Growing Pains
by booklovergalore
Summary: Canon Divergence after Book 9. Things have to get worse before they get better, and Mia finds another path to climb out of that hole. Eventual Mia/Michael.
1. Chapter 1

Copyright Disclaimer: None of the material from the Princess Diaries series belongs to me but to Meg Cabot.

Sunday, September 30, the Loft, 4 pm

So. It's been a couple of days since I've written in you, which is pretty weird, considering I keep you right beside me at all times in case anything traumatic happens (and because it's me, it's a pretty regular occurrence). It's just been really weird. Okay, I know weird isn't the most descriptive of adjectives, which explains my depressing grades during English classes, but there isn't any other way to say it.

Remember how I finally had that spark of happiness after weeks of being sad all the time? Yeah. It feels like that's exactly what it was- a spark. It's not that I can't see the bright blue sky and the sun anymore...it's just I now see that I'm still in the hole, and yeah, I'm a bit higher up than I was, but I'm not nearly as close as I thought I was to the ground. I know, I'm such a failure I can't even become depressed enough to get medication (and with a Grandmère like mine, I need A LOT of them), yet I cannot remain on the road to recovery for more than a couple of days.

Dr. K says it's perfectly normal to feel this way, since recovery isn't a linear process, but sort of like a horse galloping, there are going to be bumps along the way. He says I need to keep pushing myself to do one thing that scares me every day, because I won't feel better if I don't do anything about my situation. And recently, some things have been empowering. That speech I gave to the Domina Rei, making Genovia a democracy. Despite Grandmère hysterically weeping over being kicked out of the palace every hour and my father glaring down at me with disappointment, I knew it was the right thing to do. Even that kiss with JP...it showed me that I was capable of moving on, even if it was but a tiny step.

However, that was but for a moment. The kiss was far more liberating than the actual act of going out with him. Every date seemed to exhaust me more and more, requiring at least three hours of me napping in my bed for every hour I spent watching a Broadway show with him. I knew it was awful of me. Here was a perfectly normal, handsome guy who loved me, willing to wait years for me to feel better to have the chance to be with me. We had so much in common, being both the creative, artistic types.

It was just awfully tiring having to run away from the press every single time I put a foot out the door. I still was dazed with the blinding white lights from the camera an hour ago. My ankle was bruised where I tripped in my high heeled Louis Vuitton's when I ran down the corner in a bid to escape the Us Weekly reporter who was enthusiastically asking, "Princess! Who would you say is better in bed? Your former love in Japan or the handsome current John Paul?!" The Sixteen magazine reporter wasn't much more tactful when he shouted, "Care to comment on your improved fashion sense now that you're courting a member of an elite class? Is this an indication of a deeper commitment?" Lars had "accidentally" broke his camera when hustling me away. I still cringed at the memory.

Maybe it was selfish of me to say, but I didn't feel like going out with JP anymore. I know I've been nothing but selfish over the last 16 years of my life. It wasn't just the reporters, either. Every time he took my hand, I remembered another hand, larger and more guy like. Every time I hugged him, I could only smell...dry cleaning fluid. All my friends brushed away these tiny details, but they filled my head constantly. And thinking exhausted me so much I needed another three-hour nap.

I didn't know what to do. I was probably just overreacting as usual. I'd be regressing on my recovery. I don't think I could bear the heartbroken look in his eyes as I broke it off, his pleads on how he could improve, his declarations that he would wait for me. I don't think I have the courage to even do it. However, I don't think I could bear pretending to smile as I ate at some fancy restaurant as JP chartered on about something I barely heard because all I could think of were Saturday nights spent with another guy...one currently in Japan, whose heart I broke.

Everything had happened so fast. Even in the midst of my depression, I still had to give a speech in front of thousands of impeccably groomed business women. I had gained-and lost-best friends in the blink of an eye. I had caused my country to transition to a completely new political system, and a part of me felt very guilty that I could do nothing to help facilitate that change except get an unbelievable number of tabloids published about me each day, which only ruined my dubious credibility. I didn't want to be that princess who was always in the papers for looking pretty on a date.

Maybe breaking up with JP was a decision I was making because I was feeling sad again. It was a decision spurred by unstable emotional state, and thus, likely not a rational one. But I made the decision to date him when I was still depressed, despite that moment of happiness. Maybe I wasn't in the best state when I made that decision either.

Suddenly, tears welled up in my eyes. Usually, I'd panic over these sorts of decisions, my mind racing with a hundred different possibilities. Now, I just felt...sad. Like I was a failure. And would always be one. I still didn't know what to do, but instead of the rising sense of panic and adrenaline that usually accompanied me, I felt very tired. A tired that went deep down to my bones.

The Loft, 2 am

I slept for 10 hours. So much for the three-hour nap. I still have to finish off my homework for tomorrow. Somehow, I can't bring myself to care very much. I still don't know what to do about JP. I think I'll go see if there are any leftovers from Number One Noodle Son in the fridge.

List of Reasons Why I Should Break Up with J.P.

1\. I don't like him the same way he likes me. I know he said he'd wait, but I don't want another Kenny incident again. I really tried to like him, but I don't think anything can compare to what I had with Michael. And I don't really want anything else right now.

2\. The dry-cleaning fluid smell. Enough said.

3\. I am a feminist and believe I can be perfectly happy single. (Ignoring the fact that I can't be perfectly happy ever, because depression much?)

4\. Maybe the paparazzi will stop bothering me if I spend all my time indoors.

5\. I can focus more on school.

6\. It scares me. Dr. K says I should do one thing every day that scares me, which is also why I started dating J.P. Psychology is so confusing.

7\. It would give me a lot more nap time.

8\. Maybe Lilly will stop hating me. (Lilly will never stop hating me; ignore this reason).

9\. He always wants what I want. Okay, this is actually something Mom brought up- whenever he takes me out on dates, he always does whatever happens to be on my mind. I didn't see it as a big deal…but apparently Mom thinks he doesn't seem to have his own mind. But he seemed pretty adamant on dating straight away when I didn't.

10\. I can't go anywhere with him without being reminded of Michael, the love of my life.

List of Reasons to Stay with J.P.

1\. How am I ever going to get over Michael if I don't accept new love down the corner?

2\. Michael is never coming back for me after what I did.

3\. J.P. and I are both blond, tall, and creative. Michael and I had nearly nothing in common except a deep and abiding love of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Star Wars.

4\. Grandmère loves J.P. If I break up with him, she'd hate me even more.

5\. I don't want to break another guy's heart.

Why did I mention Michael so many times on a list focusing on J.P.? I really can do nothing right.

The Loft, 7 am

The limo is going to come to pick me up any minute. I looked in the mirror. I look so pale that I could pass as the female version of Dracula. It doesn't help that my palms are clammy and there are dark circles underneath my bloodshot eyes. I guess that's what happens after sneaking out to the living room to watch the Notebook in the middle of the night and crying your eyes out at the reminder of the passionate love you once had (and lost).

Monday, 1 October, The G and T room, 11 pm

I'm supposed to be working on my Algebra homework. Mr. G, stepfather or not, will totally kill me if I don't hand it in on time. It turns out that using depression as an excuse has a time limit. J.P. is sitting next to me, humming Broadway showtunes under his breath and scribbling ideas for his latest play. "How does a 'A Prince Amongst Men' sound for an award-winning title?" he jokes, blue eyes lighting up.

Lilly, across the classroom, editing video scenes on a computer, shoots a dirty look at this statement. Her eyes slide over to me, resuming that blank, dead quality they have whenever they have the misfortune at glancing at something as trashy as me. She hadn't spoken to me ever since the outburst at the cafeteria, and had been equally silent. It was a relief in some ways, not having to read yet another reason for you to despise yourself more than you already do. In other ways…in masochistic ways, when it was still being updated, I couldn't help but follow every mean comment about me, using it as justification about my worthlessness.

The website had vilified my right to hate myself, to lock myself in my room and just…cry. Because that was all I was good for, after all. I know, it was pretty sick. Another reason I was still in therapy.

Suddenly, something about this idyllic scene- my boyfriend smiling over at me, holding my hand- felt wrong. I just couldn't imagine myself, sitting here, day after day, plastering on a plastic smile on my face. Why was I holding hands with a guy that wasn't Michael? Why was I even bothering? Why did I deserve this façade of normalcy when everything about my life was already so crazy?

"J.P.," I said, then stopped. I took a really long look at his face, his innocent blue eyes staring up at me. His blonde hair, falling over the tips of his ears. How ready he was to answer my every beck and call with an earnest smile. My stomach lurched. I don't know what went through my head when I next said, "We need to talk. I don't think this is a good idea. Us, I mean. You're a really nice guy, and I really like you, but not like this. I'm sorry."

I could feel my face getting redder and redder as seconds ticked by without a response. The room fell to a hush around us, and I realized I may have spoken a little too loudly. I felt the urge to run, but I was stuck there, staring at the tip of his ear.

"Mia," J.P. exhaled heavily. He looked shocked. "What do you mean?"

I shifted my feet uncomfortably. I could feel the leftovers from the fridge rising in my throat. I wondered whether Lily would be able to resist posting me throwing up all over my boyfriend (or ex). I wouldn't blame her. Someone should document freaks of nature.

"I don't think we should be going out anymore," I whispered. It was so silent you could've heard a pin drop.

"Listen," J.P. pleaded. He took my limp hand. "I don't think we should talk about this right now. Why don't I take you out for Pinkberry after school? My treat."

I flushed. I felt dumb. I tried to summon up Grandmère's lessons on rejecting suitors, but all I could think about was how heavy and oily the leftovers I ate were. As time passed with my face getting as red as a tomato, J.P. seemed to have come to the conclusion that I wouldn't be moved. Not right now, at least.

He opened his mouth, then closed it. Lily let out a snicker from across the room. "Did you finally figure it out?" she said in a hard voice, landing me in place with a glare that could have frozen over melting lava. I blinked.

What did she mean? How I wasn't destined for any relationship? I shook my head dumbly, not knowing how to react. Her face suddenly contorted in rage and became blotchy. "Typical," she spat. She looked like she was going to say more, but she merely shook her head and forced on a look of blank indifference.

J.P. let out a laugh. Not a very nice one. "I don't blame you, Mia. You're in a tough spot right now. No help from _that family_." He frowned at Lily, making it clear who that family referred to.

Abruptly, Lily snapped out from her apathy. She turned angrily on J.P. "Oh, please. The amount of things that I could spill about you if I wanted to. You think you're the damn nicest guy in the whole school, dating girls like me then saving princesses. You have the most spotless reputation in New York, don't you, while I'm framed as the jealous ex-girlfriend. You deserved each other." Spit was almost flying from her mouth. She threw a video camera case on the floor. It landed with a dull thud.

At that point, I was out the door. Almost no one noticed me leave during that exchange. I liked that- feeling like a ghost. As I rounded the corridor, I heard J.P. laugh shakily and say, "Don't listen to her, Mia. We'll talk when everything's calmer. Mia?"

As far as I was concerned, that wasn't going to happen.


	2. Chapter 2

Tuesday, 2 October, The Loft

I stayed in from school today, which wasn't supposed to happen. Dr. K would definitely tell me a story about one of his horses that just unlearnt all the new tricks she had been practicing for a show once I told him about my progress unravelling.

I determinedly pulled the covers over my head when Mom came into my room to check on me. "Mia," she started off, in a hard voice. I could tell this fight was going to be a tough one. "No," I said, pulling the covers further above me. The heavy blankets muffled my voice and in retrospect, made me seem petulant and childish.

"You've been doing so well," Mom sighed. "You'll regret undoing all the progress you've made by giving up now. I don't know what happened today, but you're going to have to face it eventually."

I peeked out from under my blankets. Her face looked pinched and worried, and for a second, I felt a pang of guilt my mother had to deal with a neurotic, depressed teenaged princess. Looking at those combination of words in the same sentence makes me feel more depressed. She took a long look at my swollen eyes, matted hair, and splotchy face before slowly approaching me, almost as if I were a wild animal trapped at the zoo. She pulled me into a hug, motions deliberate and gentle.

"Please just try, Mia. I know it's been difficult, but you've been so strong the past month. I think you underestimate how brave you can really be."

"I think I broke up with J.P." I let a tear slip for the first time that morning. After crying myself to sleep last night, I didn't think my eyes had any more moisture left in them. That first tear became an invitation to the whatever dredges in my tear ducts which hadn't been used the last night, and I found rivers streaming silently down my face.

"Oh, sweetheart," my mom frowned sympathetically but firmly. "I think you should be proud of yourself. You made a decision, a significant one, and you should be proud of that. You know I don't think he was good for you anyways."

I closed my eyes, wondering why I agreed on some superficial level with her but had a churning mess inside of me anyways. Except I didn't think I should be proud of myself for breaking another guy's heart yet again. It was tiring to argue with my mother, but it would be even more tiring to go to school and face the consequences of my actions.

"And I will face everything. It's just, like you said, it was a really big decision. And I think I just need a day to rest from the fallout. A lot of people at school witnessed it, and I just want to think about how I should…compose myself. With the press going on about me so much these days," I carefully explained, whilst gauging my mother's reaction hopefully.

Her lips pursed in a tight line at the mention of the press, and I knew I had struck gold. Almost no one was more annoyed about the constant harping of the press than my mother. She had once thrown a leftover Chinese takeaway box out the window in a rage when the press clamoring outside the building had woken Rocky up after hours spent putting him to sleep.

"Just today," she looked straight at me, in a tone that allowed for no further negotiations.

"Thank you," I whispered, already snuggling further into my bed.

When she had left, I decided to check my emails, knowing that at least I wouldn't have to respond, or explain my lack of response, today. Of course, J.P. left me two emails.

JPRA4: Dear Mia,

I'm really sorry for the scene Lily had caused in school. I meant to talk to you afterwards, but I couldn't find you. I hope you're doing okay.

Previously, I had meant what I said about taking all the time you need to get yourself straightened out, and I still mean that now. I don't want you to feel pressured at all. Just know that whenever you're ready, I'm here for you. What I feel for you isn't something that I want to give up that easily.

Love,

J.P.

Great. Just great. How can I break up with a guy twice? Should I even bother at this point? I wondered whether I would get stuck in some twisted loop with J.P., constantly stringing him along, never able to move on from my past. Why couldn't he see I didn't want that? I didn't think I had it in me to be a good girlfriend anymore.

Once the thought had entered my brain, it became a persistent, niggling thing I couldn't stop thinking about. This thought had only made me feel guiltier and more resentful towards myself over the night. Breaking up with J.P. wasn't something I wanted to do. But being his girlfriend wasn't something I didn't think I wanted to do either right now. Or maybe ever.

I didn't know what I wanted. Except sometimes I didn't think I wanted to continue being Amelia Mignonette Thermopolis Renaldo anymore.

I decided to lay in bed for a couple more hours.

Later, the Plaza.

So, I guess being excused from school doesn't mean being excused from Princess Lessons. Dad had called me personally and asked me to placate his hysterical mother who was having yet another fit on whether we would still live in the palace.

"Amelia," Grandmère sighed deeply, sipping her Sidecar in distress. "I'm quite afraid I have been trouble coming up with what we shall do for princess lessons now that your status as a princess is under question."

I blinked, but couldn't summon up the energy to rebut that. I had explained the whole constitutional monarchy thing a thousand times, but I doubted I could convince the force of nature that was Grandmère of facts when she was determined to believe otherwise. Sometimes I think she refused to see reason to punish me.

"Our royal status is in peril, of that there is no doubt, regardless of you claiming we shall always be monarchy. It feels like the masses," and here, she winced, "have risen against us. Why, today, I had to wait 15 extra minutes for the brunch ladies to serve me. Then they dare make up some excuse of a kitchen emergency!"

She looked truly appalled at the audacity of the service. Rommel whimpered in his new purple doggie outfit, the velvet creasing as he trembled.

I simply stared at her. This was probably the thousandth time I had heard this speech, and all my reactions were long exhausted.

"You need to rally the people to your father's side, Amelia. As loath as I am to bestow upon you any further royal duties, an opinion which your beloved father shares, it is unseemly that you do nothing but watch whilst the rest of us tries to piece together our crumbling dynasty. For years and years our family has ruled, and you shall go down in history as the princess who ruined it all unless your father wins the elections."

Grandmère said the last word and shuddered, as if the idea of democracy was an infectious disease one could get by speaking it.

"I'm sorry, Grandmère," I said tiredly, when the silence grew too thick to ignore any longer.

"Indeed, you shall be." At this ominous phrase, she shot me a sickly-sweet smile that sent shivers down my spine. Princess lessons had taken a painful turn since my slipup. Sometimes I simply listened to Grandmère rant about my every flaw and her newfound suffering, but that was easy. After a while, it was mostly just white noise I could filter out with occasional pangs of guilt caught in between. Other times, it was the same as always but with more demanding duties. Instead of learning table etiquette in 10 languages, it would be 15, for example. I liked the increased workload, though, for it gave my mind something to focus on for a brief time.

The worst times were when we discussed paramours. Particularly, I was made to write a report on the worst princess consorts and paramours of all time; by worst, Grandmère meant unsuitable by her rigid criteria. The next week, I wrote a report on the best princess consorts and paramours of all time, the ones who made grandmothers weep of joy, not shame.

Upon receiving my worst paramour report, Grandmere smirked and said, "My dear Amelia, you had forgotten to mention That Boy. He tops the list, I must say. Our family's downfall must be traced to That Boy. He had put funny ideas about freedom and democracy in your head, I am sure."

"Funny ideas that my high school has been teaching in my history and politics classes?" I seethed. "America," and here, she wrinkled her nose, "is not Genovia. And may we be thankful for that."

Not that I could argue about Genovia's spectacular claims of the highest literacy rate, general life satisfaction, etc. But still. Shouldn't the addition of democracy be a boost to our country's spectacular resume? Not that Grandmere saw it that way.

In the present, Grandmere laughed lightly, just the way she taught me. I could never manage to stifle my unladylike "guffaws" into controlled "elegant breaths that uplift your company with joie de vivre."

"I'm jesting with you, Amelia. Indeed, I have lovely events planned where you shall represent Genovia, but rest assured, you shall enjoy these every bit as much as I will. What we can do is limited in this country, considering most of our national events take place in…well our national homeland of Genovia, but we make do. What is essential is that you take John Paul to every one of these galas and events. It is imperative the public focuses on what a lovely young lady you are becoming with a suitably handsome and appropriate consort."

She said this with a look of glee on her face, suppressed into a smirk. Combined with her tattooed on brows, I wondered why royalty was almost never portrayed as villainous in the movies I watched as a child. I immediately began breaking out into a cold sweat.

"Grandmere…I broke up with J.P," I admitted hesitantly, knowing this would cause yet another argument that I did not have the energy for.

Her smile was wiped clean off her face.

"Amelia! What on earth goes through that flighty head of yours, for goodness sakes? The one useful thing you have done since That Boy left- and yes, I know all about your eating and sleeping binges, with all the revised dress fittings and concealer for your complexion we had to buy- and you throw it away!"

And on she went.

The thing is, I know Grandmere was right deep down. Not about how democracy or Michael were enemy number one. But about how I was fundamentally broken: useless, flighty, stupid…the list goes on and on. Dr. K would say I am wallowing in self-pity, and maybe that is true.

However, I didn't let any of these thoughts slip to anyone except him, whom was being paid rather handsomely to listen to my rambling thoughts. I was allowed to think whatever I thought within the confines of my own mind, where they would not be able to offend anybody.

I understood the importance of national unity during this period of transition in Genovia. When elections occurred, it would be the first time the people of the country got an actual say in the role of royalty in our society. It would be the first time they would choose between competing entities which received the mandate to govern.

During this political turbulence, princesses were supposed to play a symbolic role (and yes, I could no longer play a political role, which I was happy about) in representing the country. Especially in a foreign country, my reputation mattered doubly. If I looked good in a dress, it could sell out within a day. The more I raved about Genovia's beaches, our GDP from tourism grew. I wasn't meant to be depressed. I was supposed to be happy and smiling at a charity event.

Moreover, in some twisted way, I understood Grandmere's obsession about a consort. No one wanted to see girls alone, at least in the media. Everyone would be speculating about my latest boyfriend. Romance was exciting. People loved nothing more than love stories. They loved reading the latest celebrity dramas in the tabloids. And princesses added a fantasy aspect to that dream, injecting a fairy tale element in an ordinary tale.

I couldn't do it.

Whatever this was- my depression, my increased neurotic behaviour leading up to it- it didn't stem from Michael. The breakup was merely my breaking point.

There is something dehumanising about being forced into a role, at first symbolic, later to be political when I came of age, that I never wanted in the first place. To be constantly told your every action has an impact on your entire nation, to know you have a responsibility not only for your stupid teenaged self but the men, women, and children of your homeland- to feel like an empty, smiling figurehead. To be told all that but never having an opportunity to improve a crazy world in any meaningful way, and when I actually do something, it becomes my family's next disaster.

For about 2 years, I was not Mia the person. I was Amelia Mignonette Grimaldi Thermopolis Renaldo, Princess of Genovia. I was living on a light leash already, thanks to the kindness of my father. I know there are princesses who have it a lot worse.

Yet at that moment, I felt I could not be Amelia Mignonette Grimaldi Thermopolis Renaldo, Princess of Genovia. For the first time in weeks, a rush of my emotions surged through me. I felt intense sadness for the people I had lost, anger at my family's disapproval, helplessness, and then, a deep, abiding self-loathing for feeling all of those things.

I told Dr. K I did not feel suicidal because I did not have the energy to kill myself. That was, and still is, true. I felt a desire to simply cease, not to end myself.

With this rush of emotion, however, came a forceful energy that wanted to manifest itself in any way possible. It felt destructive in its frustration of the knowledge any action would be futile in the grander scheme of things. I didn't know how to deal with this. So, I did what I had always done.

I ran.


End file.
